


blood // water

by deadbrave



Series: the bane chronicles [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Brief Mentions Of Rape, Brief mentions of child abuse, Gen, Minor Character Death, Pirates, brief but graphic depiction of slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-20 09:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbrave/pseuds/deadbrave
Summary: loosely inspired by the pirates of the caribbean franchise, moreso by pirate mythos.“What use is another piece of treasure? You’re a pirate.” Catarina questioned, nose scrunching as the man bore his teeth, rotten and blackened as they were. He was really a damaging stereotype for the rest of the lot with such bad hygiene.“This ain’t just a piece of treasure, Miss. It’s cursed.”
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Ragnor Fell & Catarina Loss
Series: the bane chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613527
Kudos: 1





	blood // water

**Author's Note:**

> i would once again like to thank nightmaresintofireflies, with whom this series continues to exist, even if i produce fics at a slow rate. you endlessly inspire me, thank you bee!

SOMEWHERE IN THE ATLANTIC - AUGUST 12th, 1665 

Magnus had been subjected to quite an inordinate amount of cruelty for someone barely turned thirty, someone who’d spent most of his life enslaved by a man who considered himself his father. Roan Visser was not an understanding man, nor was he a kind one. He was the son of one of the original Dutch colonists, born into the extravagant wealth that his father left behind; a mass of stolen opulence built off the backs of enslaved native Indonesians and Chinese immigrants, a vast plantation and ample harvest that was hoarded to himself, much akin some dragon of legend. 

Even so, as he was believed to be the son of Roan and not of a demon, as time would surely tell, Magnus, or Surya, as he was so-called before he changed his name in an attempt to mask his past, was treated better than most under the heel of Roan’s boot. He and his mother had a hut all to themselves instead of shared between more people than could fit and had proper access to food, which led to them being ostracized from both their fellow people of color and the white folk that worked on the plantation; isolation that only benefited Roan, who was able to layer on plentiful amounts of abuse that Magnus had still yet to reconcile with or acknowledge in any real way to allow himself to heal. 

Magnus had grown up enslaved, yet he’d never faced quite the same oppression as those being bought and sold into slavery now. Chattel slavery had a rich and evocative history that held its beginnings drenched in the inky, thick darkness that had only begun to grow to expanded proportions due to the transatlantic slave trade. It made slaves more accessible than ever before in the easy to swallow pill of someone different than the buyer, a person simply thought of as a contrasting species since they looked dissimilar based on skin color alone. 

When Ragnor had freed Magnus from his emotional bondage, he had promised that he’d show the young man the world, give him a reason for living greater than himself and what he’d left behind. He had always been an empathetic person with a want for adventure, so when Ragnor had suggested that they become pirates, all moral quandaries pushed aside, Magnus was biting at the bit for a chance to prove that he could be more than he was raised to be. With Ragnor’s ample savings, they were able to purchase a worthy seafaring vessel and began their trade, which mainly consisted of beating the asses of colonizers and plundering their ships for goods that could be redistributed to those less fortunate; a pirate version of the ballad of Robin Hood. 

Soon, instead of solely attacking ships filled to the brim with the plentiful possessions belonging to the wealthy, Ragnor, Magnus, and their crew began to attack ships transporting slaves through the Atlantic. There was a way to free those held captive, and it happened to involve killing slavers and throwing them overboard as they did to the ‘property’ they did not deem fit enough to continue the journey across the ocean. Magnus typically was not an advocate for violence, especially not murder, but this situation was a new, unholy breed of evil that lit a fire beneath the warlock like nothing before, well enough that he’d willingly push his fragile and monochrome morality aside for it. 

There was a certain stench to ships that carried kidnapped African folk, and it was so revolting that one could be smelled from a few miles away. So many people shoved into such a small amount of space did not offer enough room for it to be a particularly cleanly situation, which worked out well for the crew of the  _ Crooked Star _ . In no time, their vessel pulled up alongside the  _ Henrietta Marie _ but left ample room for an escape. Magnus grabbed onto a rope and swung over to the other ship, landing on silent feet. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and approached an oblivious guard, slicing through him without blinking. After taking a cursory glance along the deck, Magnus let out a low whistle to signal for Ragnor to join him aboard, leaving the rest of their crew on their vessel, ready to link up with them at their discretion. 

“Practically a skeleton crew,” Magnus murmured as he and Ragnor patrolled the deck, only having to silence one more guard. 

“Fewer people to share profit with,” Ragnor reminded him as he ducked into the Captain’s quarters, returning after slicing the throat of the man. “Must be asleep below deck.” With that, the duo made their way underneath the wood and into the hold. The reek of human suffering was so hefty that Magnus was forced to cast a spell to plug their sense of smell lest they make their presence known from gagging or vomiting. One by one, Ragnor and Magnus killed the sailors aboard the  _ Henrietta Marie _ , sparing no mercy for those who believed their cruelty a just spectacle. Eighteen in total, including the Captain, were part of the slaughter, after which the two could focus on helping those trapped in chains. 

The captives were shoved into the remaining available space of the hull, less than a centimeter between each of them, bare, shackled by their wrists and ankles as well as chained to one another, allowing no reasonable amount of motion and movement. They lay beneath bunks and on their sides, stored like products, flesh digging into the wood of the ship at odd and likely unbearably unforgiving angles, skin wearing down to muscle to bone. The fear in their eyes was familiar to Magnus and sent a chill down his spine, eyes watering from not only the smell wafting through the air now. 

With a wave of Magnus’ hands, the chains in question disappeared, leaving the frightened kidnapees to cower in one corner of the hull, fearing what they could not understand--the outline of magic swirling in the palm of the warlock’s hand. Ragnor approached the group and began to speak the only African language that the duo knew, Xhosa, in the hopes that any of the folks within the ship could be a mediator for the group. Worst come to worst, they could drag a few crew members aboard and apply their languages, but the warlocks liked to put the least number of people in danger as possible. 

Magnus knelt on the wood beside a young woman with a small child in her arms; the woman was sobbing silently, dark eyes pleading as they stared into his. The child was still, lifeless, and limp--the warlock could only assume that they had died during the early part of the evening, unseen by the sailors, thus not thrown overboard. “ _ I’m sorry _ ,” Magnus attempted to comfort the woman in her native tongue, hoping that she would know Xhosa. Thankfully, this time, he was lucky. “ _ I’m sorry we didn’t come soon enough to save them. We must leave now, we’re here to rescue you. _ ” 

“ _ I should have saved her _ ,” The woman replied, lips set into a firm line. She lifted her hand, fingertips alight with a delicate blue glow, skin fading to a similar shade. A warlock. The woman was a warlock, just like them. “ _ I could have, yet I was too scared to save my little sister. _ ” Guilt was something that haunted quite a few of the immortals, so it was nothing new to Magnus, though was still a painful reminder nonetheless. 

“ _ It wasn’t your fault, you could’ve been killed, or worse. _ ” Though it was hard to see what was worse than the predicament she already found herself in. “ _ You don’t have to hide anymore. What’s your name? _ ” 

“ _ Zola. My name is Zola. She was Nonhle. _ ” 

Magnus took one of Zola’s hands in his own, hoping that the touch would help bring the woman back from the brink. “ _ Zola, should you choose, you can join our crew, or we can bring you back home. No one will lay a finger on you again _ .” 

“ _ Take me with you. There’s nothing left for me there. _ ” 

OFF THE COAST OF GUATEMALA - FEBRUARY 8TH, 1666

Less so than Magnus, Ragnor rarely spoke of his past before he’d entered Magnus’ life, far less accommodating to questions than his companion. He had garnered enough knowledge, at least, to know that his friend had grown up in what used to be the Mayan Empire in Guatemala with both his parents (a stepfather who hadn’t been as cruel as Roan) and a little sister named Ixnicte. Ragnor had espoused many tales about people he had known throughout his life, but not enough about himself, as though there were parts that he needed to brush aside and a mask to hide behind. Magnus did know enough, however, to trust Ragnor’s judgment on certain things. This was one of those things. 

Piracy was not a nonviolent profession, and it wasn’t surprising to be boarded in the middle of the night. Pirates were not immune to the attack of other pirates, so as such, Magnus wasn’t too terribly confused when he awoke mid-slumber to find fingers wrapped around his throat, hard and unmoving, very similar to the feeling of his stepfather holding him in a chokehold. The warlock sputtered for only a moment before he blew the offender back with a blast of his magic, red and viscerally violent, allowing himself a moment to desperately catch his breath. Greedy, shallow gulps of air had life returning to Magnus’ lungs as he stood, throwing his overcoat on and grabbing his sword. Magnus tossed open the door of his quarters only to find the main deck in chaos, Ragnor, Catarina (renamed from Zola), and the crew caught in a heated battle that somehow Magnus had managed to sleep through a good portion of. 

“What did I miss?” Magnus questioned over the din of battle, knowing for certain that at least one of his companions would be able to hear him. 

“We’ve been boarded!” Ragnor replied, snarling as he clashed swords with a heavily bearded gentleman whose foul teeth Magnus could smell rotting from where he was standing. Pirates weren’t known for their hygiene. 

“And they won’t stay down!” Catarina tacked on, knocking her combatant’s sword from their hand and sliding the blade through them. Though they seemed to be in pain, they pulled their body free of the weapon, dark, sickly blood oozing sickly from their wound, and sneered at Catarina, surging forward for another bought. 

Magnus furrowed his brows, equally as confused at this update. There were many horrid things in this world that mundanes did not have knowledge of, but as far as Magnus was aware, one could not come back from the dead, nor survive mortal wounds such as that. He climbed the stairs beside the Captain’s quarters to see if he could steer the ship away from whoever had boarded them and disway them from this combat until they could think of a better solution, only to find a crazed man steering their ship, cackling all the while. Magnus lifted a hand to throw the man aside, stormy gaze training on the horizon just a moment too late. Dark eyes went wide and a half aborted shout fell from Magnus’ lips; a warning to his companions that was freed after it was needed. 

The  _ Crooked Star _ ran aground, wooden hull grinding into the rocky shoreline in an almost screech-like cacophony. Magnus was thrown against the helm, points pressing harshly into his flesh, sure to bruise in painful splotches. Many members of both crews were jostled violently in every direction, scattered and confused. Magnus himself was a little dazed from the wreck, though he wrenched himself free from the helm and stumbled back down the steps to assess the damage and hopefully wrangle up some way to be rid the ship of the pests currently seeking asylum aboard it. Before Magnus could get to his friends, he received a blow to the back of the head and fell forward to the soaked deck. 

When Magnus came to, he was blindfolded and on his knees, wrists tied together behind his back. There was the odd texture of ash on his tongue, mouth dry and hot. He tried to wrench his hands-free of the bondage only to find that he couldn’t even unfurl his fingers, potent magic useless in a scenario where he could not wield it. “Ragnor? Catarina?” His throat was scratchy, but fruitful nonetheless. 

“I’m here, Magnus,” Ragnor replied from his right, the soft fabric of his friend’s shirt catching on his skin. 

“Me, too,” Catarina spoke from Magnus’ left, sounding the most disoriented of them all. “What the hell is going on?” 

“I have no idea,” Magnus pursed his lips together, nearly gagging on the rush of ash down his throat, though it would not be the only time in his life that he’d be scorned by cinders. “Are we near a volcano? I can’t get this damned taste out of my mouth.” 

“I think so. Smells like home.” Ragnor commented, which sent a sickly, sour feeling to the pit of Magnus’ stomach. Something wasn’t right here. Before he could respond to Ragnor regarding the unease that he felt, footsteps approached rapidly. Magnus shut his mouth, though nearly bit his tongue when his blindfold was ripped from him. Blinking his eyes to accommodate to the influx of light, Magnus glared at their captor, recognizing the cackling insane man who’d run their ship onto land without trouble. 

“What the hell do you want with us?” Magnus bared his teeth, a desperate, violent fighter until the very end. 

“Not you, with _ him _ ,” Their captor kicked Ragnor’s shin, causing the older warlock to snarl, though his eyes narrowed as though he remembered something long forgotten. “He has something of mine and we’d like it back.” 

“I doubt that he has anything of yours, at least nothing that wasn’t rightfully taken. Isn’t that right, Ragnor?” Magnus responded protectively. He received silence in return. “Ragnor?” 

Ragnor’s gaze shifted from the pirate to Magnus, expression apologetic. “If it’s what I think this ingrate is asking for, it was something given to me long ago. I had no idea that it was so important that someone would come looking for it years down the line.” He looked to their captor again, stony and steeled. “Take it, then. I have no means for it, and it appears that you’re desperate.” 

“How kind of you,” The man laughed, harsh and dry, as he reached forward to tear a necklace from Ragnor’s throat, holding the shining metal up to the torchlight. It was something that Magnus had seen adorned on his brother every day he had known him, yet had never questioned nor looked closely at. It was gold and had some sort of glyph on it. Mayan, Magnus assumed. “This was stolen from us. Maybe it wasn’t you, however you aided in this remaining hidden.” 

“What use is another piece of treasure? You’re a pirate.” Catarina questioned, nose scrunching as the man bore his teeth, rotten and blackened as they were. He was really a damaging stereotype for the rest of the lot with such bad hygiene. 

“This ain’t just a piece of treasure, Miss. It’s cursed.” 

Magnus burst into a fit of laughter, finding this all too amusing and ridiculous.  _ Curses were not real _ . There was plenty in the world that mundanes should fear if they had any sort of logic in their arsenal, however, curses, especially cursed treasures, were just fairytale. Magnus was no fool. This pirate had to be spinning them sort of yarn to take advantage. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it.” 

The man’s responding grin was foul and sent a shiver of genuine fear down Magnus’ spine, and he shut his mouth instantly, no longer victorious on his higher ground. “Ah, seeing is believing, after all.” He moved a few steps behind him into a pool of moonlight, revealing himself for what he truly was. This pirate was no normal pirate, instead was some sort of undead creature that was only of bones, flesh long gone. His clothes hung off his frame, ragged and torn; hair scraggly and coarse. There were no longer eyeballs, but dark, deep, empty sockets as much a lure as light to a moth. The trio was shocked into silence, openly disgusted by the sight in front of them. 

“You’re...really fucking ugly, mate.” Ragnor finally stated, bold as brass as he always had been. The man approached him, skeleton fading behind flesh, and wrapped his fingers around Ragnor’s throat, eyes gleaming threateningly. 

“See, now that I have this, I have no use for you. You may wish to hold your tongue in the case that we decide to spare you.” The man squeezed harder for a moment before releasing the hold he had on Ragnor’s throat and backing away, spinning the medallion between his long fingers. 

“You needed that to lift your curse.” Catarina surmised. The other two warlocks were no morons, but their new addition had brought a welcome and fresh breath of air to a duo so burdened by the baggage that they often acted without thinking first. “If we are no use to you, you should free us of our bonds. We will leave you to do your work, there is no need to spill more blood.” 

“There would be no harm in killing witnesses, neither. Especially ones of such a high caliber of irritating.” The man replied. 

“Not to burst your bubble here, Captain--?” Magnus asked, arching a brow for clarification as to the other pirate’s name. 

“Hernandez.” 

“Captain Hernandez. Sounds like a Spanish colonizer to me, Ragnor,” Magnus continued, giving his brother a gaze that screamed of displeasure. “We aren’t exactly normal either, and we aren’t afraid of little undead creatures. We’re much worse than that.” 

“Oh, really now? Fascinating that my crew and I overtook you so easily, then.” Hernandez sneered, acting as though he was any sort of threatening when truly, he was just as ugly as Ragnor had called him and nothing more. 

“Yes.  _ We’re _ half-demon.” Catarina informed as she tore herself free of her bonds and threw a powerful blast of magic the Captain’s way, sending him flying against a wall of the cave that had contained them. She crouched beside her companions and ripped the ropes from their hands before helping them stand. “C’mon, we’ve gotta get out of here. Lilith knows what’s become of our crew.” The boys nodded in agreement, heading out of the cave without repose. Near the entrance, close to the groaning, incapacitated undead Captain, lay a gold ring, engraved with the scene of a stag hunt. Magnus had no qualms in plucking this off the ground as the trio freed themselves from the captivity. 

The new ring slid onto his pinky, Magnus hastened his pace to keep up with his companions as they journeyed to the  _ Crooked Star _ . They passed by ruins of an ancient city, and Magnus watched his brother curiously as a certain expression of familiarity crossed his features, though he was clearly tempering his reaction, aware of the possibility of an audience. Is this where Ragnor had grown up? Was this home for Magnus’ brother? 

The trio found their crew, mostly alive, bound together around the mast of their ship, gagged so they could not scream for aid. They were guarded by two skeleton colonizers who were quickly dispatched with a swift gust of magic that threw them into the embrace of the sea. While Ragnor and Catarina worked to free their crew, Magnus stood on the sand and prepared himself for the task of unleashing their ship. 

Magnus inhaled deeply and lifted his arms, spread wide, allowing the familiar feeling of his magic trickle through his body, alight in an orange glow similar to the image of a phoenix. Slowly, palms flat and pressed forward, Magnus shifted his outstretched arms to meet in the centerline of his form, building up the strength of the magic as his muscles became overtaxed and struggled with the effort. Once his arms were perpendicular, Magnus pulled them back toward his torso, tension taught in his arms as though he himself were the string of a bow. With a loud cry of effort, pushed forward with all the strength he could muster, the blast of his magic freeing the  _ Crooked Star _ from the sand and setting her out to sea. He could hear cheers from the crew, and, with a victorious grin, Magnus wrapped his exhausted muscles around the chains of the anchor and began to climb aboard his vessel. 

Magnus leaned back in one of the chairs within the Captain’s cabin, feet kicked up atop the rickety dining table that he sat in front of, a goblet of wine held in one hand, the other thrown over his eyes, exhausting overbearing and wearing down on him. To expend such massive amounts of magic was exhausting to any warlock, but especially one so young as him. A handful of weeks away from thirty-one, Magnus had yet to experience the world but had already seen so much horror and suffering, too much to bear. 

“I don’t think I ever told you two why I was on the  _ Henrietta Marie _ ,” Magnus startled at the voice beside him, dropping his hand from his face only to find that his companions had joined him at the table some time ago. 

“You don’t have to tell us. It’s none of our business.” Magnus replied, rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm, then, taking a heady sip from his goblet. The wine was doing nothing but making him even more sleepy than he already was, but he partook regardless. 

“I know that, but I want to share.” Catarina continued, gaze shifting from Magnus to Ragnor for a moment. Ah. This was a gamble in the hopes that Ragnor would open up about what had happened that day. “My parents met their untimely end years ago so I have been my sister’s guardian for quite some time. One of my fellow tribesmen stole Nonhle from our home in the middle of the night and when I tried to stop them with my magic, he and his companions put me in chains with her. The next thing I knew, we were on that cursed ship and bound for a place far from home. Nonhle caught ill and I hid it from the crewmen but could do little to help her. If I used my magic, they were sure to throw me overboard with the dead and dying and Nonhle would’ve soon joined me.” Catarina sniffed, clenching her jaw. “I had to make a difficult choice, and it just happened to be the wrong one.” 

Magnus furrowed his brows, reaching for Catarina’s hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Cat. We’ve all been put into difficult situations similar to that, and I’m sure neither Ragnor nor I always made the correct choice or got the outcome that we’d hoped for. Lilith knows that I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my time, and you’re younger than even I am. It’s impressive you were able to contain your magic as you were. The first time I felt real grief I slaughtered my father.” Catarina met Magnus’ gaze, eyes watering as she squeezed his hand, bonding in their shared experiences of pain. 

“I had to bury my baby sister, too.” Ragnor finally spoke, unusually opening up about any amount of his personal history. “The Spanish Conquistadors decimated almost all of my people, but the worst thing I had to do was see Ixnicte die before me.” Ragnor’s gaze was zeroed in on the edge of the table as he fought tooth and nail against the ever-present urge to keep all of his past private and under lock and key. “Nicte was smart, beautiful, and kind, and if anyone deserved to die it was  _ me _ ,” Ragnor ground out, teeth pressed together harshly as he was consumed by misdirected self-hatred. “I was revered because of my magical ability, because of my demonic heritage, so I was more of a fascination to the Conquistadors than a plaything as they viewed Nicte; something to use and dispose of, as a lot of our women were thought of.” Bile rose in Magnus’ throat; that was an idea he was intimately familiar with in his dealings with the Dutch colonizers that plagued his homeland. 

Magnus put down his goblet and reached for Ragnor’s hand with the one that was not cradling Catarina’s, thumb pressing soothing circle’s into his brother’s tan skin. Ragnor finally looked up at him, eyes full of tears, and swallowed hard, willing the rage to simmer instead of imploding violently onto someone who did not deserve it. “We are not, and never will be, the things that happened to us and the ones that we loved. I am not my mother’s rape, nor her forced slavery and marriage. I am not the abuse that my Master inflicted upon me as a child, I am not my mother’s horror of what I am nor am I her suicide. I,  _ we _ , are and always will be more than what we are given. We are magical beings, we have gifts that are bestowed blessings. Perhaps we are born of tragedy, but there is nothing that forces us to remain in such tortured existence. We’re pirates, for Gods’ sake! There is nothing that we cannot do if we don’t put our minds to it. If we’re going to live forever, we might as well make the most of it, right?” 

It was an impassioned pleading and admittance of understanding of the suffering that his companions, his _ family _ had been through. Magnus couldn’t imagine a slice of forever that didn’t contain them, a continuing of his life without these two warlocks by his side, and he had to express that sentiment unless he wanted to lose them to the cruel nature of time that bore down onto immortals and sent them spiraling into calcification. Magnus was only thirty and had already lost more than he could bear, he would not lose Catarina and Ragnor to the bitter pill of hard-to-swallow reality. After a moment of extended silence, Catarina let out a wet laugh before she threw herself into Magnus’ arms, effectively breaking the physical connection between him and Ragnor, holding the other warlock close to her. Magnus chuckled, rubbing a soothing hand along her spine. Before too long, Ragnor folded himself against Magnus’ side, reluctantly joining the embrace despite his dislike for physical affection. 

“We’re with you, Bane,” Catarina murmured against his skin. 

“Until the end of the line.” Ragnor agreed, squeezing an arm around Magnus’ middle. For the first time, Magnus was inclined to believe that someone would actually stay when everyone else in his life had only ever been temporary. 


End file.
